Island of Secrets

by Janni Nell

  Everyone was happy. The Tikini-kai was positively drooling at the prospect of fresh fish on a regular basis. The mers licked their lips at the prospect of all those delicious hibiscus flowers.

  “Looks like we have peace,” I said.

  Oak smiled. “Well done, Allegra. Sophie. I owe you girls.” He was so thrilled, he jumped to his feet. His laptop tumbled onto the beach and that’s when everything went pear-shaped.

  As I bent to pick up the laptop, my ankle twisted. I lurched sideways and the pink pearl Coral had given me fell out of my pocket. I’d been so busy working on my Goblin vocab that I’d forgotten to put it somewhere safe. It lay there on the sand, while everyone stared at it. A cold silence descended on the beach.

  King Kanu’s eyes glowed red. He stabbed a sharp-nailed finger at me. “The mers bribed you. You’re on their side. You’ve betrayed us.”

  “No, please believe me. I wasn’t working for the mers.”

  “Then how do you explain that?” He pointed at the pearl.

  Telling him it was a gift from Coral would only make things worse, so I lied, “I found it.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “Traitor.” He spat, and a big green goblin golly landed right on my toe.

  “Watch your manners,” I snapped. “Being king doesn’t give you the right to—” But he’d already turned away. As he headed for his outrigger, his bodyguards and advisers closed in around him. They had almost reached the vessel, when I heard my “Copacabana” ringtone. It was coming from his fanny pack.

  When he stopped walking, his entourage stopped with him. Pulling out the phone he’d stolen from me, he pressed a button and grunted in Goblin. “Who’s there? Are you a spirit?” He peered at the phone as though he thought there was a tiny being trapped inside.

  I strode toward him. “You stole that. It’s mine. Give it back.” As I held out my hand, demanding the return of my phone, he scowled at me and spat again. This time his spittle hit my cheek.

  Now I was really mad. I dived for his ankles and crash-tackled him onto the sand. “Give that back,” I yelled, straddling him and snatching my phone out of his hand. As I leaped to my feet in triumph, I noticed two beautifully fletched arrows were aimed at my chest. Narfu smiled as though he couldn’t wait to fire.

  I shook the phone at him. “King Kanu stole this. He’s in the wrong here.”

  A gentle hand touched my arm. Sophie said, “This isn’t helping. You can get another phone.”

  King Kanu’s advisors helped him to his feet. As they brushed sand off his fancy cape, he glared at me. I wondered what he’d do next—spit at me again, order his guards to kill me or apologize for stealing my phone and offer me his Barry Manilow poster as compensation.

  I think he was planning on the second option when something whizzed past me. Not one of the blue-fletched arrows, but a small projectile fired from the sea. It sliced open Narfu’s arm before slamming into the sand. He dropped his bow and doubled over clutching his arm. Blood oozed through his fingers. The other bodyguard swung his arrow away from me and fired at the mers. Suddenly projectiles came from both sides.

  Oak said, “Let’s get out of here,” and ran for cover. Quinn dashed after him, pulling him into the safety of the vegetation fringing the beach.

  Casper shoved me onto the sand. “Don’t move,” he said. From the corner of my eyes, I saw him wrap his body around Sophie and gently lower her to the ground beside me. He covered both our bodies with his own. Sophie was tiny and almost disappeared beneath him, but I stuck out at all angles, my arms and legs exposed to everything that was hitting the sand around us. Sophie reached for my hand, one of the few parts of my body that wasn’t exposed. At first I thought she was offering comfort, but I soon realized she was seeking it. Her own hand trembled.

  Sighing inwardly, I did the right thing, squeezing her hand and whispering, “It’s okay. Casper will protect us.”

  From beneath his shoulder, I peeped out at the battle that was going on around us. In this kind of encounter the Tikini-kai, exposed on the beach, were at a disadvantage. The mers could fire their projectiles then duck underwater to avoid the arrows. Only a lucky shot would hit a mer. The Tikini-kai knew what they were up against and sprinted into the nearby vegetation. Soon they had taken cover and the skirmish had reached a stalemate.

  When projectiles stopped raining down on us, Sophie released my hand. “I’ve got to fix this,” she said. Getting to her feet, she headed off toward the water.

  Casper went after her. Had I missed something? Wasn’t he supposed to be my guardian angel? I spat sand out of my mouth and got to my feet.

  I didn’t understand what Sophie said to the mers, but somehow she convinced them to honor the terms of the peace talk and allow the Tikini-kai to return safely to their island. Soon everyone had left the beach but Casper, Sophie and me.

  Casper stood beside Sophie at the water’s edge, one arm protectively around her waist. Unwilling to intrude on them, I picked up one of the mers’ projectiles. It was about six inches long and made from what I guessed to be bone. One end had been sharpened to a wicked point that was smeared with blood. I hoped it was Narfu’s.

  From the water’s edge came the sound of Sophie puking. I turned in time to see Casper holding back her hair. When she stopped heaving, he gently wiped her mouth.

  “This is nothing,” she protested. “Just the morning illness.”

  But Casper was less interested in her puking than the blood trickling from a wound on her leg. Pointing at it, he said, “That is not nothing.”

  He had to be kidding. Honestly, I’ve had worse injuries shaving.

  “Allegra,” he called.

  “Yes?” I answered, expecting him to ask if I was okay.

  “Sophie’s injured. She needs medical attention.”

  I had my mouth open to tell him it was only a scratch, when Sophie said, “Do not make a fuss. It is just a scratch.”

  Grr. I wanted to hate this woman and she was making it very difficult.

  “We have to get her back to Oak’s place,” said Casper.

  He put his arm around her and helped her up the beach. When she slowed, he picked her up in his arms. Despite her protests, he carried her all the way. I tagged along, like the loser friend who’d been included on a date out of pity.

  Back at Oak’s place, things didn’t improve much. While Noreen made Sophie tea with plenty of sugar— “For the shock”—Casper and Quinn examined Sophie’s leg. Quinn seemed as concerned as Casper. He even suggested she might need a stitch.

  “Please do not make so much of this,” she said, claiming that she’d be fine with antiseptic, a bandage and a cup of Noreen’s tea. In the midst of all this, Oak appeared, looking shaken but pretty pissed off, as well.

  “Allegra, I want to talk to you.” He sounded just like my old school principal.

  As I got to my feet, I shot a glance at Casper. He was looking at Sophie with an expression that made my stomach churn. How can I describe it? Only one word will do. Love. An ocean of love. No, a universe of love. So much fricking love you could bottle it, sell it for a dollar and still make a fortune.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I followed Oak to his office, where he slumped into his favorite chair.

  “That went well,” he said.

  Oh, crap. I was so fired.

  “So,” I said, “I’m sorry the peace talk didn’t work out, but—”

  “At least you got your phone back.” Sarcasm.

  “That’s not the reason the talk failed.”

  “True,” he admitted. “It went to shit when the pearl fell out of your pocket. What were you thinking, carrying something so inflammatory? Please don’t tell me it was a lucky charm.”

  I could’ve explained how Coral had given it to me, how I’d put it in my pocket and forgotten abou
t it in my last-minute rush to revise Goblin vocab. But I didn’t because there were no good excuses for unprofessional behavior.

  “We can try again,” I said, making a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation. “I’ll speak to King Kanu and—”

  “You’re off the case. I can’t have unprofessionals working for me.”

  Gee, tell me what you really think. But I honestly couldn’t blame him. When I offered to leave the island immediately, he didn’t argue.

  And that’s why I couldn’t give Queenie her gin.

  It was also why, several hours later, I was sitting in a waterfront bar in Papeete, phone clenched to my ear, whining to Wanda about what had gone wrong.

  Chapter Nine

  “I was so fricking unprofessional. How could I forget the pearl was in my pocket?” I sucked on a crappy piña colada and failed to appreciate the water view from the bar. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Distracted by your new man Dylan?” suggested Wanda.

  “He isn’t my new man. Even if he was, I shouldn’t be distracted by him.”

  “Anyone can make a mistake,” said Wanda. “Remember you do have a 99.5 percent success rating.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Maybe you could find the dowry on your own and surprise Oak.”

  “Nice thought, but not all that practical.”

  “Come on, where do you think the dowry’s hidden?” Her voice betrayed a hint of impatience and I couldn’t blame her.

  “Okay.” I made an effort to focus. “The truth is that I’m not convinced the dowry has been hidden. I mean, what would you do if you had a fortune in jewels?”

  “Head for the mall.”

  “Exactly. The pirates would’ve spent their money on a ship or weapons or wild women. Or maybe they retired and bought a house in the country. Whatever. The treasure’s gone. No one will find it now.”

  “And yet, the Star of Light sounds as though it must’ve been a very large diamond. Not so easy to dispose of without someone gossiping about it.”

  “Unless it was cut into smaller stones.”

  Wanda gasped. “Wash your mouth out. No one in their right mind would destroy a big diamond.”

  “We’re talking about pirates here. They’re not that into jewelry.”

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” muttered Wanda.

  “Okay, let’s forget about cutting up diamonds.”

  “Fine with me. I’d much rather believe the diamond is hidden somewhere with the dowry. Pretend you agree with me, Al. Where do you think is the most likely hiding place?”

  “That’s easy. It’ll be marked on an old map with a big X. All I have to do is find the map.”

  “You should be taking this more seriously. Don’t you want to find this stuff?”

  “Sure, if I thought I could, but I doubt anything will ever be found. Anyway it’s no longer my case. Oak will hire someone else to negotiate peace and I really hope they’ll succeed. There’s been enough killing.”

  “So what’s next?” asked Wanda. “An exciting new case?”

  “I don’t have one yet, but I suppose someone will hire me eventually,” I muttered miserably.

  “Should I call for violins?” said Wanda. “Every pity party needs them.”

  Despite my bad mood, I laughed. “Okay, Wonder-witch, I promise I’ll snap out of it.”

  “First thing you need to do is stop drinking and book a flight home.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  She hurried on. “I know you don’t have a home now, but you could stay with us. Mac wouldn’t mind.”

  I thought Mac would mind very much, considering she was currently training Wanda in witchcraft. Besides, her house was tiny.

  “Thanks, Wanda, but I’ll be fine. I can always drop in on Mom and Steven. They have heaps of space since Steven inherited his father’s mansion.”

  Wanda stifled a yawn.

  “Am I boring you?” I teased.

  “Of course not. It’s getting late is all.”

  “Go to bed. You need your beauty sleep. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not hanging up until you leave that bar.”

  “Okay, I’m leaving now.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  That’s when Dylan strolled past, saw me and came inside.

  Taking one look at my suitcase, he asked, “What happened?” Realizing I was on the phone, he apologized for interrupting my call.

  Wanda heard his voice and asked, “Who’s that?” When I explained, she said, “Okay, I’m hanging up now. You’re in good hands.”

  Putting my phone away, I looked up at Dylan. “I lost my job.”

  “When do you fly home?” There was that four-letter h word again. I tried not to shudder.

  “I haven’t exactly booked a flight,” I said. “The truth is, I have nowhere to go except for my mom’s and—well, let’s just say we’re working on improving our relationship.”

  “Stay with me,” he offered, beaming as if he’d just opened a great Christmas gift. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned.

  “I wasn’t fishing for an invite,” I said quickly. “I’ll work something out.”

  “Look, I’ve got the yacht for another couple of weeks. There’s a spare cabin. I’d enjoy your company. No strings. Okay?”

  My gut was telling me to refuse, but that was only because the offer seemed too good to be true. However, after looking at it from every angle, I couldn’t see how spending time with Dylan could have a downside. Even if we ended up doing the horizontal mambo and this turned out to be nothing more than a holiday fling, I’d be disappointed, but my heart wouldn’t break. It was a win-win situation. I was so happy with the prospect of spending time with this handsome guy I even let him carry my suitcase, which I was perfectly capable of carrying myself.

  “You never did tell me what you do for a living,” he said, as we climbed aboard.

  “Neither did you.”

  “Since we’re going to be living together, so to speak, I think it’s time we shared.”

  “Okay, you first.”

  “Don’t judge me too harshly.” He took a deep breath. “I work on Wall Street. I’m a share trader. But I swear I wasn’t personally responsible for the Global Financial Crisis. Now it’s your turn.”

  “I’m an investigator.” No need to mention a little detail like the paranormal.

  “What were you doing on Lu’arna Island? Is there much to investigate there?”

  “Not a lot,” I said, unwilling to betray client confidentiality.

  “I guess that’s why you lost your job.” He led me inside and down a short passage. “Here we are. Your cabin.”

  He opened a door, revealing a huge bed stacked with gold pillows. Funny that should be the first thing I noticed rather than the beautiful shiny wooden fittings and the wide windows that framed an amazing blue view of sea and sky. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Losing my job could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  A grin spread across his face. “I hope so. We’ll have fun together.”

  I was in need of fun. My lips curled in a smile. “Let’s start with some piña coladas.”

  “Maybe later. What you need is food. Come on, I know a great restaurant. It just missed out on a Michelin star.”

  “You’re taking me to a no-star restaurant?” My flippancy got me a lecture on the Michelin rating system, but Dylan somehow made it interesting. Anyway the restaurant was great. It should’ve gotten its star because even the snails—sorry, escargot—were delicious.

  After a crème brûlée to die for—and too much wine—we left the restaurant, ending up perched on stools in an almost-empty bar. The sign outside had proclaimed it the ol
dest in the South Pacific, which, judging by the run-down interior, was probably true. Overhead fans stirred the stale air. The walls were mottled with stains, which were only partly concealed by the old framed pictures. The floorboards were as pitted and scratched as the counter propping up the bartender. He could’ve been a member of the original staff what with his stringy gray hair and deeply lined skin. Predictably, he didn’t have the ingredients for a piña colada, so I followed Dylan’s lead and ordered a vodka tonic.

  As the bartender added slices of lime to our drinks, he said, “You are here on vacation, no?”

  “Yes,” we said in unison. Officially I was on vacation and had been since Dylan offered me a temporary home on his yacht.

  Dylan said, “We’ll be here another few weeks.”

  The bartender looked pleased at the prospect of return customers, and offered us a round of drinks on the house. “My name is Marcel. I will make your vacation very good.”

  Dylan raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  Marcel said, “This bar has the excellent history.” He pointed at a group of pictures on the far wall. “Over there. You will see.”

  “Maybe later,” said Dylan, heading for the men’s room.

  Happy to take up the challenge of learning about the history of this place, I got off my stool and checked out the old pictures. It was hard to believe the sketch of a hovel was actually this pub in its earliest days. “It’s improved since then,” I said to Marcel.

  He moved from behind the bar and joined me. “Ah, yes, it looked like that when it opened. Then the whalers came. And the pirates. And the settlers. It grew big on their money. Soon it had a music hall singer all the way from London.” He pointed at a painting of a woman in a red dress, which was cut low to reveal her talents. I didn’t need to read the name of the portrait to know it was Queenie.

  What had made her leave a successful career in London for this pub, which must, at the time, have seemed like the end of the earth?